That Time In Budapest (Teaser)
by JUSTxAxFRIENDLYxPSYCHO
Summary: Clint always HAD remembered his and Natasha's time in Budapest very differently, and for good reason. Young Harry Potter was about to find out exactly why that was and what that had to do with him. Past Natasha/Clint implied. Rated M for language, adult content, and Tony Stark being Tony Stark.
1. Chapter 1

He blinked, stunned at the sheer, fucking balls, as the kid snatched the small cup of cheap, black coffee from his grasp, downing a hasty gulp before shoving it back with a grimace.

"Tastes like shit."

Clint snorted. He should have suspected the kid would be mouthy. Mouthy wasn't something he was called in for; mouthy, Coulson could deal with on his own. Even so, mouthy or not, there had to be SOMETHING to this Shadowing gig; Fury wouldn't have asked him to tail his Handler, otherwise. Not on something as routine as this.

The boy gave a sigh and leaned back in his chair, looking for all the world as if he wasn't uncomfortable as hell slouching in the rigid, ironwork frame. A flicker of flame and the crackle of paper as he lit another cigarette...his third or forth, since the meeting began. It was kind of pitiful how this made the kid look so much younger than he was, his cigarette perching between two slender fingers of his thin hands.

FUCK, but he felt old. This guy was practically in diapers compared to him.

"So, Mr...?"

A flicker in his unnerving green eyes and a twitch of his pouted lips told Clint that this kid was a liar before his tongue could form the lie. "Lilison. Evan Lilison."

"So, Mr..._Lilison_, was it? Hm. You said you had information for us about the-" Clint drowned out Coulson's unfailingly pleasant tone. He knew the that seasoned Handler could, well, handle this guy. Fuck, after the shit he and 'Tash pulled, ole Phil was practically a Blood-hound for bull-shit. Besides, that wasn't why Fury had asked him to come. There was something else. There fucking had to be...better be...if he was giving up his weekend to this routine questioning bull-shit.

When the Big Boss had pulled him into his office and given him the details for this job, he'd given him that FUCKING annoying Look. It wasn't the first time that Fury had given him That Look, as if he knew something that Clint didn't. Hell, aside from his 'Don't Fuck With Me' default expression, Fury only had that other 'I Know Shit You Don't' look. It was rarely, if ever, used on his Agents, though. Most of S.H.I.E.L.D. knew that Fury knew shit he wasn't saying, so if he bothered to give you a Look that broadcast the fact, some weird (well, weirder than normal) shit was going down.

Clint scowled into his paper coffee cup, staring blankly as the luke-warm liquid stained the waxed paper, before knocking back a gulp of the bitter coffee with a grimace. Fuck, that shit was nasty. At least the kid wasn't lying about that...

He felt so fucking distracted, which was not cool for a man of his position. Distraction meant death in the field, but there was just something...

...there was something about this kid who was, what, all of fifteen...sixteen...years old that was practically beating itself against Clint's brain, shouting 'You know me!'

He knocked back the rest of his bitter coffee with a scowl. Fuck if he knew.

...and then he saw it, that wry, secretive little smirk that lit up the kid's face and made those familiar green eyes gleam. In that second, that face was so familiar it was eerie.

"Natasha...you're Natasha's kid."

Coulson's mouth snapped shut and he turned to give his Agent one of his blank, pleasant looks, one of those blank looks that usually meant Clint was about to be really fucking upset, and the boy...the boy just stared and took another drag of his cigarette.

[End Prologue]

Chapter One: A Spider, a Hawk, and their Mutant-Hybrid Hatchling

Harry, or Evan, as he'd been calling himself since going "underground" in the muggle world, could only stare as the one that Clint called "that fuckin' Stark" laughed. He had no idea what could be so funny about this total cluster-fuck, but then...he didn't understand a lot of people, especially rich geniuses with egos to put the Malfoy family to shame.

It was supposed to have been a quick meeting with a contact about the "Voldemort Situation," all nicely covered up with secret phrases and bull-shit. Supposed to have been, being the key phrase. Well, whoever this Hawk-eye bastard was, he'd screwed Harry over royally. One mention of Natasha, though Harry didn't know her either, and Coulson had dragged his skinny arse back to his fancy jet. The situation sucked, but at least the transport was much nicer than the giant sardine cans most civvies were shoved into for International travel.

He'd tried not to seem too over-whelmed by the rushed flight to New York, or his being secreted from their landing site to an obnoxiously big and obvious-as-fuck-all tower in the middle of Manhattan, but he knew that he had probably failed. All this led to now, him sitting, slumped, on an uncomfortable stool in the middle of a giant lab, while "fuckin' Stark" laughed at whatever the hell he was reading on his high-tech thing-a-mabobs.

Obviously, Stark was immune to scowls and sneers pointed in his general direction, as he seemed perfectly content to flit about the place like a hummingbird, laughing at something only he knew about. The other person in the lab, a slightly taller, stockier man with graying hair called Dr. Banner ("just call me Bruce, Mr. Lilison"), had the decency to look a bit apologetic about his lab partner. On Stark's third lap around the admittedly enormous lab, Harry snagged the sleeve of the man's worn cotton tee.

"Seriously, Mr. Stark. I'd like to go home in the next year, so could you please tell me what's going on or at LEAST stop laughing at me?"

Stark's gaze was frightening in how it went from mocking to intense with no warning. "I'm not mocking you, kid. I'm mocking Clint...and Tash, though mostly Clint, because Tash could kick my ass."

"O...k...?"

Bruce seemed to deflate with the size of his sigh. "We're just trying to figure out how you ended up in England, considering..."

"Considering, _what _exactly?"

Stark and Bruce's quick exchange of glances was almost too brief for Harry to catch...almost. Strangely, Stark moved to the other end of the lab and pretended to look busy as Bruce awkwardly shifted and gave him a rather worrying look. "Well, considering...considering that our tests show that you're the biological son of Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff."

Harry blinked, once...twice. He wasn't sure what to say. He was angry, no...furious that these people were suggesting that he wasn't his parents' child, but he did not know them well enough to judge how they'd react to his explosion of temper. _Just...just keep calm until you can contact Hermione or Sirius and we can figure this out, figure out what the hell is going on..._

TBC...

I hate to fall into the cliche, but I just wanted to post this teaser of the prologue and part of chapter one to see if there is interest. I am going to school and working, so I would be posting in my limited free time. I would be happy to share this story as it develops, but if not I am just as happy to keep it to myself on my laptop for a bit of fun. As Favorites do not tend to show up in my email (I don't know why), I would need an actual response (PM or Review) from you if you'd like to see more of this.

...and yes, the title did come from that bit of dialogue between Natasha and Clint during the Chitauri battle in "The Avengers."


	2. Chapter 2: Complete Chapter 1

OK, before I get started, I want to say: HOLY FLAMING FLAMINGOS, people! You are blowing up my inbox, so I am going to go ahead and start the sharing and caring with this brain-child fan fiction, and hope you enjoy the ride. I don't know how often I will update, or where it will take me, but I hope you have as much fun reading as I am writing it.

**Disclaimer (since I left it out of the Teaser): **As I am neither Stan Lee, nor J.K. Rowling, nor anyone associated with Marvel, Disney, Warner bros, or any of the affliates of either/both franchises, it should be very obvious that I do not own anything recognizable. The plot is mine, but since I am not about to pull any sort of "Shades of Grey" bull-shit and publish this, no worries, mmmkay?

ALSO, instead of picking up where the teaser left off, I am just going to go ahead and give you Chapter One in its entirety. If you are reading for the first time and missed the Teaser, the Prologue that leads into this Crazy Mess is there.

...

Chapter One: A Spider, a Hawk, and their Mutant-Hybrid Hatchling

Harry, or Evan, as he'd been calling himself since going "underground" in the muggle world, could only stare as the one that Clint called "that fuckin' Stark" laughed. He had no idea what could be so funny about this total cluster-fuck, but then...he didn't understand a lot of people, especially rich geniuses with egos to put the Malfoy family to shame.

It was supposed to have been a quick meeting with a contact about the "Voldemort Situation," all nicely covered up with secret phrases and bull-shit. Supposed to have been, being the key phrase. Well, whoever this Hawk-eye bastard was, he'd screwed Harry over royally. One mention of Natasha, though Harry didn't know her either, and Coulson had dragged his skinny arse back to his fancy jet. The situation sucked, but at least the transport was much nicer than the giant sardine cans most civvies were shoved into for International travel.

He'd tried not to seem too over-whelmed by the rushed flight to New York, or his being secreted from their landing site to an obnoxiously big and obvious-as-fuck-all tower in the middle of Manhattan, but he knew that he had probably failed. All this led to now, him sitting, slumped, on an uncomfortable stool in the middle of a giant lab, while "fuckin' Stark" laughed at whatever the hell he was reading on his high-tech thing-a-mabobs.

Obviously, Stark was immune to scowls and sneers pointed in his general direction, as he seemed perfectly content to flit about the place like a hummingbird, laughing at something only he knew about. The other person in the lab, a slightly taller, stockier man with graying hair called Dr. Banner ("just call me Bruce, Mr. Lilison"), had the decency to look a bit apologetic about his lab partner. On Stark's third lap around the admittedly enormous lab, Harry snagged the sleeve of the man's worn cotton tee.

"Seriously, Mr. Stark. I'd like to go home in the next year, so could you please tell me what's going on or at LEAST stop laughing at me?"

Stark's gaze was frightening in how it went from mocking to intense with no warning. "I'm not mocking you, kid. I'm mocking Clint...and Tash, though mostly Clint, because Tash could kick my ass."

"O...k...?"

Bruce seemed to deflate with the size of his sigh. "We're just trying to figure out how you ended up in England, considering..."

"Considering, _what _exactly?"

Stark and Bruce's quick exchange of glances was almost too brief for Harry to catch...almost. Strangely, Stark moved to the other end of the lab and pretended to look busy as Bruce awkwardly shifted and gave him a rather worrying look. "Well, considering...considering that our tests show that you're the biological son of Agent Barton and Agent Romanoff."

Harry blinked, once...twice. He wasn't sure what to say. He was angry, no...furious that these people were suggesting that he wasn't his parents' child, but he did not know them well enough to judge how they'd react to his explosion of temper. _Just...just keep calm until you can contact Hermione or Sirius and we can figure this out, figure out what the hell is going on..._

…

_WHAP!_

"WHUUUUTHEFUCK?"

Sirius jerked upright in his bed as a post owl, now hovering grumpily outside his bedroom window, smashed into the aged glass. It wasn't an owl he recognized, but then, it was hard to recognize his own pair of house slippers at four in the morning, after a long night of drinking with Remus.

The man shuffled, hunched, with one eye scrunched shut as the other peered blearily around the room, as he made his way to the window to let in the rumpled bird. Honestly, he didn't see where the bird got off looking so harassed when Sirius knew he had to look worse than the bird did. A glimpse in the mirror as he passed by had him cringing away from his own reflection: hair like tangled brambles, two-day old stubble, and "sleep crust" collecting at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

Holy fuck. That was the last time he tried to out-drink Remus. As quiet as the "furry dweeb" was, he was a demon at packing away the shots.

Sirius swore colorfully under his breath (he'd have to remember "Mordred's saggy ball-sack" and "Merlin's Hairy butt-crack" for later) as he wrenched at the window frame, trying to unstick it so that he could let the pissy post-owl in. With a wrench that landed him on his ass, the window opened, letting in a blast of frigid, morning air that woke him up quicker than a cup of Remus' gran's boiled coffee.

"Fuuuuuh-huuuu-hhhhuuuuCK, that's cold!"

Sirius barely got his footing before the post-owl was fluttering about him, all but beating it's feathered (punchable, the little bastard) body against his stiff, aching body. Shivering and wide awake, Sirius thrust his hand out in the general direction of the bird and demanded the "Merlin damned letter, you fucking pest."

Sirius sighed when he felt the letter hit his hand, but scowled as his sharp tone was rewarded with a harsh nip and a splatter of owl-droppings on his bare foot. Sirius turned away from the Devil Bird, shaking off his foot, as he looked at the familiar print on the letter.

_Snuffles_

_c/o Remus Lupin_

_Great Britain_

"...what? Harry?" Harry had been silent for months, since Dumbledore decided to safely tuck him away in the obscurity of the Muggle world following the Tri-Wizard Tournament disaster. Fumbling with hands numb from the cold air, Sirius nearly ripped the letter twice trying to open it, covering his fingertips in tiny cuts from the heavy parchment that left tiny spots of blood on the pale stationary. When he finally managed to unfold the letter without ripping it, he managed all of two lines before dropping heavily onto the hard floor. Harry was...in Manhattan? As in, New York?

Sirius wasn't sure if the booze and exhaustion was catching back up with him, or if he was really reading what he thought he was reading, because there was no way that Harry could possibly be in the states, not without Albus knowing about his leaving before hand. It had to be some kind of mistake; Remus would probably know how to tell for sure...REMUS.

He had to get Remus; he was a giant geek, the metaphorical brain behind the machine that were the Marauders. If anyone knew how to find out what was going on, it would be him.

Without a care for the owl-droppings smeared and cold on his foot, or his frankly startling appearance, Sirius scrambled down the dark hall, bashing into walls and tripping over his own feet, before bursting into Remus' room with a mighty slam of the old door.

_CRACK!_

"What the FUCK, Remus?!" Apparently, the old wolf was as good a shot as ever, as he'd fired off a blasting hex the moment that Sirius had burst in the door. Luckily for them both, Sirius had tripped over the area rug and it had been the door that had been left in splinters, and not Sirius.

"The FUCK, Paddy? Whu'th' _Hell_ are you doing?!"

"Harry. I...I got a weird letter from Harry..."

"What _about_ Harry?" It took less than a second for Remus' voice to go from sleep fogged to decidedly sharp, and Sirius thought, if for only a moment, that he could see Remus' lupine eyes glow in the blackness of the room.

Yeah, so. It was fucking creepy, but this was about Harry, so Sirius sucked it up and silently promised himself to freak out afterward. More subdued now that he'd nearly been blasted apart, Sirius handed Remus the letter, and watched as the man read the letter by the dim light of the moon.

If he didn't know better, you'd think that Remus was part cat with his reflecting eyes and super night-vision, though Sirius would never say that to his face. Remus was...weird...about cats. It was probably the "turning into a feral canine once a month" thing.

"Coulson..."

"Erm...bless you...?"

Sirius felt the tension in his shoulders ease a bit at the smile he saw flicker at the corner of Remus' mouth. "No. I mean Agent Coulson...Harry mentions him in his letter. He was the one who arranged a meeting with Harry through Dumbledore, so if he's the one who took Harry to New York, Dumbledore will know why, or at least know how to find him."

"Ah. O.K. Alright. So...everything's...fine...?"

A dry snort and a tired sigh. "I didn't say that, Paddy. It's obviously not, if they felt the need to suddenly fly him out to America, but at least he's not in danger. Even so..."

"What?"

"Even so, there is no way in HELL that I am going to sit in this house and wait until Dumbledore can arrange to have him sent back." Oh. OH, Yes...

Sirius had been hoping for That Tone. When Remus got That Tone in his voice, it meant mischief, adventure, and a hell of a lot of head-aches for anyone who stood in his way. It was the Tone that Moony of the Marauders used, and it was the Tone of a man determined to go through Hell and High Water for his old pack-mate's kid.

"I'll got pack, then!" The sound of rushed footsteps, a pause, and then silence. "Remus? What kind of robes do you think we'll need in New York?" The silence was broken by the raspy laugh of one Remus Lupin.

-[Chapter End]-


	3. Ch 2: Oh, No Now There's Two of Them

Thanks again, and AGAIN, for all the lovely Favorites, Follows, and Reviews.

Real quick, I want to address one big "Plot Thing" :

I noticed after the fact that I had Coulson in the story, as well as Bruce and Tony already working together in the Tower, so where this falls is still up in the air. Either this is a situation where Coulson survives, or this is set in a pre-movie universe where the Avengers Initiative was pushed through early (and the events of the film pushed back by a few months).

**Disclaimer:** Don't Own, so please DON'T SUE. Also, I should mention Spoilers for both series (I am including all the separate Marvel Avenger tie-in films in this warning, as well).

...

Chapter Two: Oh, No. Now There's _Two_ of Them

After Harry had sat, bored, in Stark's lab for a good two hours, he had finally begged a pen off of Bruce and managed to get some parchment from Agent Phil. Of course, Stark had stared at him as he wrote, and then stared some more (with an annoying little smirk and head tilt) when he'd given the letter to the fussy post-owl the calm Handler had brought in to the lab in a huge, awkward cage. Once his letter to Sirius was sent, he was left to twiddle his thumbs, literally, which wasn't as amusing as it sounded. Though he was still utterly pissed at the _bullshit_ about James and Lily Potter not being his parents (_Not Fucking POSSIBLE_), he was glad that he hadn't lost his shit and thrown a tantrum in the lab.

He could have said it was because he didn't want to piss off the manic Stark, but he'd be lying. Once he found out that the mild-mannered Bruce shared an unusual commonality with Remus (their mutual destructive potential), Harry had backed down. Quickly. He loved Remus as much as he was coming to like the cool, collected Mr. ("just call me Bruce, kid") Banner, but you didn't test Remus' patience at "that time of the month"...you just _didn't..._just like you didn't push Bruce to the point of him turning you into pate a la human.

After the third round of thumb wars between his left and right thumbs, Harry gave it up. He was officially fucking bored, and he wanted a damned cigarette. He may be a temporary prisoner in this beast of a tower, but that didn't mean that they had to hold his cigarettes hostage, or keep him from a distraction that wouldn't bore him to tears.

"So. Anything to fucking do around here if you aren't a science genius?"

"Uh...sit there and look pretty? You can do that, can't you runt?"

Harry clenched his jaw and shifted on his perch. _Keep your cool. Don't piss off nice Mr. Banner._

Said "nice Mr. Banner" gave Stark a quelling look, and the younger genius raised his hands in mock surrender, smirking, as he wandered to the other side of the lab to fiddle with more of his science thingies. "Uh, well...you probably can't do much here, but I think that Steve might be around, if you want some company. He's not much for science, but he can keep you distracted for a while, at least."

"I'm sorry, _who_?"

Harry scowled at the stares he received from both scientists. It wasn't as if he'd just confessed to being Merlin, or turned one of their little gizmos into a frog, or anything. Well, if this "Steve" was as famous as he was starting to think he might be (if the stares were anything to go by), then he should probably know who the _Hell_ the guy was. Damn. He'd probably screwed himself over, but was too _fucking_ _BORED_ to care at the moment.

"Steve. Steve _Rogers_. _THE_ Cap. Captain America, Super-Soldier that helped win World War II. Seriously, _how_ can this not be ringing any bells? I think he's an annoying...spangly and annoying...Capsicle, but even _I_ know who he is."

Harry was starting to understand how this guy had earned the Hawk-eye bastard's nickname of "that fuckin' Stark," with as much as he ran his mouth. Hermione would have told him it was the pot calling the kettle black. Ron wouldn't have understood the obviously muggle reference, but would have agreed with the sentiment. Even so, neither were here, so he could be as hypocritical as he wanted about finding Stark's smart mouth annoying.

"Just...where can I find this Steve? I'm desperate for a cig, but since no one in this fucking tower prison will give me one, I want a fucking distraction."

"Do _I_ count? _I_ think I do, or I _should_." Harry whirled around at the sound of the man's voice, and stared. He was sure that he looked about as intelligent as Crabbe and Goyle combined (so, not very...at all), but he didn't really care.

"What, _YOU_?! What the fuck are _you_ doing here?!"

The man smirked.

…

Remus loved Sirius. He really, really did. Not like everyone (even James, at one point) assumed he did, but with the deep, abiding, (platonic) love of the dearest of life-long friends. Even so, he was going to bloody well _kill the bastard_, soon.

From the moment Sirius had found out that Remus was taking them to New York, he hadn't had a fucking single moment of silence. Even when Sirius shut up long enough to catch his breath, he was twitchy and fidgeting, jerking his knee in nervous, frantic movements that made the things around them vibrate and rattle. To make matters worse, Remus knew that they'd have to travel part of the way Muggle-style, at least until they were across the channel and out from under the radar of the Ministry and Death Eaters, alike.

So, add uncomfortably tight quarters, a stiff chair, and a flimsy meal tray into the equation, and you get Remus, ready to beat Sirius with his "floatation device" (read: the rock-hard seat cushion that wasn't so much a "cushion" as a torture device for the ass) as he jerked and fidgeted, making the entire row of seats rattle and vibrate.

"_Honestly_, Paddy. Statute be fucking damned, but if you don't sit still for FIVE minutes, I'm turning you into a vomit bag." As their dosing aisle mate looked decidedly green around the gills, this was a valid threat and more than enough to get Sirius to stop moving. For a while, anyway.

"It's just...how much longer will we have to be on this...contraption?"

"An aeroplane, Sirius. Aeroplane. It's not rocket science."

"_Rocket_ science?"

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose, praying for patience. "Never mind! It shouldn't be too much longer till we land in Paris, and then we can do the rest of the trip...our way."

"Good! I want to see Harry."

Remus can feel a muscle in his jaw twitch as the desperately bites back an annoyed, exhausted snarl. "We have to meet up with Coulson first, remember? We won't know where to find him, otherwise."

"Oh, right. THEN we go see Harry."

Remus just rolled his eyes and slammed his head back into the punishing head rest. Honestly, it was like speaking to an impatient toddler when Sirius got like this. He would focus on that one thing, and then blank out everything else. This worked well when they were kids playing pranks on Snape, but not so much now, when focus on more than one thing, on more than the final result, was required.

If it came down to it, he'd fucking drug Sirius for a while, and then continue on when the man was lucid again. Though he didn't make a habit of dosing Sirius, Remus was at the point were he'd hold the bastard down and force a potion down Sirius' throat for even twenty minutes of restful quiet. It was really (really) fucking tempting, but he'd wait and see how much further Sirius pushed his "impatient child" act before he decided, either way.

Still...just five hours of uninterrupted sleep, especially after Sirius' rude awakening earlier, would be just lovely.

"Harry, Harry, we're going to see Harry in NEW YORRRRK~!"

Remus twitched. Sirius was fucking _singing_, now. Fuck it. As soon as they landed, Remus had a dose of Sleeping Draught with Sirius' name on it.

-[End Chapter]-


	4. Ch 3: Insanity Reins Supreme

**Disclaimer: Don't Own, Don't Sue**

Thanks for all the continued support, everyone. I will keep this going until the end, where ever and whenever that may be.

Also, heads up for 1) Marvel verse characters NOT mentioned in the films and 2) shifting POVs

...

Chapter 3: Insanity Reins Supreme

Tony knew a lot of things. He knew he was a genius. He knew Fury was a giant bag of opportunistic dicks, just waiting to fuck him over. He knew he could get away with most anything because he had money and was charming. As wonderful as he was, admittedly, Tony also knew he was a bit of a bastard who did not play well with others and could never resist poking at people until they exploded.

That was kind of why he worked so well with Pepper and Bruce. While Bruce wouldn't "poke him back," like Pepper, he still was able to keep Tony (mostly) level-headed enough to know when enough was really enough. So, he was surprised when he heard the kid's shout across the lab, though less surprised when he saw who the kid was shouting at.

"Hello, Bird-brain. Come to crash the party?"

…

The scowl on the kid's face was enough to let Clint know that he was not welcome...far from it, in fact. So, maybe it was a dickish move to get the kid dragged from London to New York without even a "please" and "thanks for your cooperation," but they didn't pay him for his tact. They paid him to hit the target, every time, and excuse the fuck out of him if that had made him a bit more abrupt than most people could deal with.

Still. He wouldn't apologize for doing his job, and he especially wouldn't if it meant ignoring something that shouldn't be ignored, like his kid. So, yeah, he'd been hanging out in the rafters since the kid had shown up and he'd heard...well, everything.

This little shit was his and Tash's kid, and fuck if he knew how he was going to break the news to the Widow that the kid that he'd never known about had popped up. Fuck.

Tash aside, he had no idea what he was going to say to the kid, who obviously had no idea that the "Hawk-eye bastard" and "Agent Barton" were the same guy...and Bobbi. _Jesus_. Bobbi. What the _Hell_ could he possibly say to his wife that would make this...any of it...alright?

Too bad they were all stuck in the R&D labs; a mere thirty floors up, and Clint would have raided Stark's bar.

"Hello, Bird-brain. Come to crash the party?" Fuckin' Stark.

"Yeah, well...I couldn't let you have all the fun without me."

The kid scoffed and turned away, obviously stressed and on his last nerve with the lot of them, with the day, in general. He was a moody little bastard, but Clint couldn't really fault him for that. The day had been shit, admittedly, starting from that crap cup of coffee all those hours ago.

"So, what? Come to bond with your hatchling, or something?" Clint felt his jaw clench, and could see Bruce discreetly trying to shut up the genius out of the corner of his eyes. "Want to do a little Hawk-nestling bonding, or something?" Mother. FUCKIN'. Stark.

"What?"

"Oh, you didn't know? Your dad is the man-in-tights." _Will not punch Stark._

"_What?!_"

"Evan Lilison, if that is even your real name, which I doubt...meet your old man, Clint Barton, also known as Bird-brain-OOPS, I mean Hawk-eye."

_WHAP!_

Clint blinked, his mouth twitching in a faint smile. Huh. So, the kid could pack a punch like Tash, despite his small size. Good to know.

"Fucking _bastard_! _My parents are dead_!"

For a second, Clint thought the kid was going to deck Stark again for his sarcastic little murmur of "Awk~ward," but it looked like he had a bit of control left...a _bit_.

It was a testament to how many times Stark had been swung at that he quickly continued on, not reacting save to stretch out his jaw carefully and poke at it. "Obviously they're not, or we wouldn't be having this discussion," his dark, sharp eyes focused in on the fuming kid, "look, whatever 'mommy' and 'daddy' complexes you have aren't the issue, here. These tests don't lie...those people were _not_ your biological parents."

"_Fuck_. _You_."

"...Are we interrupting anything?" Clint had never been so relieved to hear the infinitely pleasant, infinitely patient tone of Coulson's voice. The man, as ever, was perfectly poised, with his default expression (pleasantly mild-mannered) set on his face. While Clint was glad to see Coulson, if only to break up the tension before the Hulk broke...well, everything, the kid was another story. He was staring intently at the two men in black...dresses(?)...standing behind the Handler.

"Siri? _Remus_? You...came for me?"

The men, one who reminded him of Stark with his cocky smile, and the other oddly feral around the eyes, smiled.

…

After a scuffle in the airport that nearly had Remus' arrested for assault, he'd managed to dose Sirius enough to keep him docile and cooperative until they could check into their hotel. Once they'd retrieved their baggage and had made their way out of the airport (followed not-so-discreetly by airport security), the two had headed to their hotel with little fuss. Sirius was all but glassy-eyed and drooling when the cab had pulled up to the hotel, so Remus had half-carried, half-dragged the man into the lobby, where he'd left him snoring on a couch so that he could check in.

If the employees and the few guests there gave him odd looks for his unusual entrance, he paid it no mind. The sooner this necessary crap was done, the sooner he could top off Sirius' dose and catch some rest before meeting with Dumbledore's contact, Agent Coulson.

The room was dark, and smelled of cleaning chemicals, cheap fabric, and ironing starch, but even so, Remus was out as soon as he hit the pillow, leaving Sirius sprawled and snoring on top of the sheets on the next bed over.

He wasn't even sure he dreamed, he was so exhausted. So, when Remus had opened bleary eyes to the sight of a pleasantly smiling face hovering above him, he was more than a bit disoriented.

"Who...?"

The man in the suit smiled, his expression never shifting from pleasant. "I'm Agent Coulson, Mr. Lupin. I believe we were supposed to meet regarding the situation with Mr. Lilison?"

"_Lilison_?"

"Oh, that's right. My apologies. I meant Mr. Potter."

Remus blinked and slowly sat up as the man backed into a chair, the agent's pleasant smile not even flickering as a brief glance over to Sirius, whose mouth was stretched in a yawn, reveiled that the man was idly scratching his balls through his Muggle sleep pants.

"How's Harry? Can you tell us where he is? Why you've taken him?"

The man continued to smile, shifting forward in his seat as he pulled a folder firmly onto his lap. "Tell me, gentlemen, what do you know about the Potters' involvement in the 'Budapest Incident'?"

-[End Chapter]-


	5. Ch 4: In Which Coulson Knows Everything

Chapter Four: In Which Coulson Knows Everything

"I fail to see what this has to do with us, Director Fury." Coulson rounded the corner, mission folders in hand, just in time to hear James Potter, an Agent-on-loan from the British Wizarding Ministry, reply to something the Director must have said.

Even from where he was, he could see the Director's jaw tighten, one of his few tells that let Phil know that he was losing patience. "As I explained to Agent Potter," Agent Lily Potter shifted in place, trying to hide her annoyance into being dragged into the pissing contest between the Director and Agent James Potter, " we suspect that some of 'your people' may be involved. If this is true, then we'll need your cooperation on this mission...both of your cooperation."

"Even if it means dragging a pregnant woman into the middle of a potential war zone."

Director Fury paused, not enough for the Agents Potter to notice, but enough that Coulson could tell that the Director was carefully weighing his words. On one hand, the success of the mission was paramount, on the other hand, he couldn't outright dismiss the Agent's concerns, or he might well walk away, dragging away all the vast, necessary knowledge that Agent Lily Potter held with him.

"People are dying, Agent Potter. Hundreds...thousands...of people, some of whom are pregnant women, themselves. I know that you could help with your connections, and your wife is the best in the field. I need the best for this. If I didn't, I wouldn't have requested the two of you personally."

Agent Potter scowled, his hazel eyes glinting darkly behind his glasses. Agent Lily Potter, however, looked thoughtful and determined. "I had a good idea what I'd be getting into when I agreed to come, Director Fury. James is free to leave if he has reservations," a swift, sharp look at her husband quelled any outburst, "but I plan to follow through. Now, where, exactly, are you sending us and who are our contacts?"

Phil recognized this as his cue to step forward with the mission files, and he plastered on his most pleasant smile as he handed them over to the fiery redhead. From the moment that Phil Coulson had been contacted by one Albus Dumbledore and Agent Lily Potter, he had been impressed by them both. If he was being truthful with himself, Phil could admit that he was more than simply impressed with Lily. She was startlingly bright, sharp witted, kind, and very beautiful. When he was alone, he sometimes entertained thoughts of what it would have been like, had he met her before James Potter. Dedicated to S.H.I.E.L.D. he may be, but he was also a man, and would have been proud to have Lily as a partner, a lover, a spouse.

"...Budapest? I wasn't aware that the situation there had escalated so quickly. Do your Agents know that we're coming? This all seems very...last minute."

"Black Widow and Hawkeye have been debriefed. They will advise you on your cover once you arrive. We want this dealt with discreetly, but quickly, so try to not draw too much attention to yourselves," this was obviously aimed at the hot-headed James, "but feel free to do what you must, if the situation calls for it. That is all. Dismissed." Both British Agents snapped a quick salute, before turning to leave the conference room. James Potter was wearing a scowl, and looking thoroughly put out, while Lily Potter had the air of a woman on a mission-both professional and determined.

"I didn't get a chance to say it earlier, so, hello, Phil." The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent nearly melted inside at the smile Lily gave him, and gave her one of his honest, less professional smiles.

"Lily..." at Agent Potter's dark stare, "...Mr. Potter. I'll be your Handler for this mission, so feel free to contact me with any mission updates. At 0300 hours tomorrow, we will meet in the North Hangar, and transport you to a private airport, from which you will be flown in to Budapest. I know that you could travel more quickly...your way...but we must make sure that you stay under these people's radar, especially if they are 'your people'."

"Sounds good! Well, good-night, Phil!"

"Good-night. You as well, Mr. Potter." A curt nod was his only reply as the man wrapped a possessive arm around his wife's shoulders. Phil sighed. Honestly, he couldn't see what Lily saw in that man, save his good looks, and even then, he didn't think that she'd be the shallow type. He must be the kind to grow on you, like mould. There was no other explanation.

…

Phil stared calmly at the two rumpled Wizards, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes at Mr. Black, who strongly reminded him of both Stark and Agent Barton. Mr. Lupin, on the other hand, seemed to be doing his best to be professional and pay attention as Phil went over the details of the mission that had lead to the current situation with young Mr. Potter.

"I still don't get how you can be sure. I mean, Lily was pregnant when she left, wasn't she?" Mr. Black's question was blunt, bordering on insulting, but Phil was more upset about what had happened to Lily than Mr. Black's rudeness.

"I am quite certain, Mr. Black. You can read her and Agent Potter's account of the events in the mission folders I gave you. I also have a copy of the birth certificate and certificate of adoption, if you wish, but that would have to wait for later. Right now, you need to be brought up to speed before I take you to Mr. Potter..."

[End Chapter]


	6. Ch 5: Congratulations, Natasha

**Disclaimer: **Only the plot is mine, and as I am STILL refusing to pull the "Shades of Grey" kind of fuckery, there should be no issues.

**So, yeah...it has been a while, but I work and have College, so I will continue to update when I can, if/when I'm inspired. I know that leaves a lot up in the air, but that's life.**

**Thank you everyone who has been having as much fun with this as I have. Whether you Favorite, Follow, or Review...even if you just read and do none of those things...thanks.**

**Anyway, without further ado...**

Chapter Five: Congratulations, Natasha, it's a BOY!

She was used to staring and whispering from the other agents, and even some of the scientists, at every S.H.I.E.L.D. base she'd ever been to. With her skill set and reputation, it would have been incredibly stupid if the others didn't fear her. Still. The whispering, no matter how used to it she was, was as annoying now as it had ever been. She didn't mind that they didn't trust her-she didn't need _their _trust. Getting the job done was in no way made easier or harder by the fact that most of the minor agents and lab lackeys distrusted her. As long as they could follow her orders when necessary, they could distrust her all they liked.

With the way things were, the whispering was expected, so it wasn't that it made her nervous, or upset her-she had much more control of her emotions than _that_-but, it was just so damn cowardly. They knew that she could hear the whispers. She knew that they knew that she heard the whispers. So, why not just get it over with and say it to her face? It was better than the cowardly murmuring behind her back.

However much she hated the whispering from strangers, she hated it more from the agents that she knew. They knew better than to do it, and when they did do it, Natasha knew that she was in for an unwelcome surprise. Clint still had a crook in his nose from the one and only time he'd tried to throw her a surprise birthday party. The cake had been nice, she'd admit, but was somehow less appetizing when served up by a man with two forming black eyes and blood crusted around his smashed nose, even if he was grinning the whole time.

Natasha was fully prepared to face the whispers when she arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters in D.C.. Her mission had gone well, which was always a bonus, and she was ready to move on to the next. She should have known something was odd by the way that the whispers had been replaced completely by less-subtle-than-usual staring. It wasn't new, per se, but it was still...off. She should have known that her day was about to get complicated when she entered Director Fury's office to find the man himself, instead of Agent Hill and a screen with a live up-link to the the Director.

"What is it?" Fury's look was telling; Natasha knew that she wasn't going to like this.

"Sit down, Agent Romanoff."

Fury didn't even wait for her to fully settle herself before he got down to business. "Something was brought to my attention about the Budapest Job recently that required me to re-open the files. It was a curious read. Curious, because now I wonder why you would exclude reporting your pregnancy and subsequent birth during your and Agent Lily Potter's eleven months of captivity."

Natasha felt her throat close up and, for the first time in memory, words nearly failed her. It had been so long ago that she'd all but forgotten about...that time. She hadn't heard from either Agent Potter in years, so she'd assumed that she'd never hear another word about what had happened in the utter darkness of the catacombs. Apparently, she had been wrong.

"It...wasn't really relevant to the mission, Director. Our objective was clear, as was the fact that we all were to do what was necessary to meet that objective. The pregnancy was a result of meeting the objective, and Mrs. Potter's...unfortunate accident...made her the perfect candidate for fostering the child."

"I see." The silence stretched for a moment, neither Fury nor Natasha wanting to be the first to break it. Agent Hill, as dedicated an Agent as she was, was obviously struggling between professionalism and not wanting to intrude on something 'private.'

After a moment, Natasha knew that she'd have to be the one to break the silence if she wanted to get this interrogation over with. "Director, why is this even up for review? The Budapest Job was completed successfully, the Agents Potter took the child and left for England. There shouldn't be any issue now, so many years after the fact."

"That's where you're wrong, Agent Romanoff. The young man was located by Agents Coulson and Barton, and is being kept in Stark Tower, for now."

Natasha felt her heart drop to her stomach. Damn it. _Clint_. For everything about that mess of a situation that she would not-could not-regret, her one regret was that she'd never managed to come clean to Clint about their kid. Sure, she could say that it was because Clint didn't need to know, what with having a wife and all, but she'd be lying. Clint knew her best of all, she owed him so much-almost everything. At the very least, he had deserved the truth about the kid, even if neither of them could ever raise the kid, themselves.

"When was this?"

"About a week ago, now. I'd like you to head over there, now, and let Agent Coulson debrief you on the situation. It's more complicated than you realize-your son is directly involved in the Voldemort Conflict."

"Fuck."

…

"Sorry, puppy. I win again." Harry hid his smirk as Sirius twitched at Stark's nickname for him. Even he had realized that Stark would cut the shit if he stopped reacting to it, but Sirius just seemed unable to keep his cool and not react.

"Shove it, Stark! You did NOT win, you-you _cheated_!" Harry choked back a laugh at Sirius' scandalized tone, nearly losing it when a glance at Remus and Bruce showed the two both giving Sirius the same exasperated look.

"Face it, dog-breath, I'm smarter AND prettier." Sirius huffed and trounced off in a snit, leaving Harry in stitches. So, yes, he still wasn't happy about being stuck in New York, but it was no worse than all the places he'd been stuck by Dumbledore, and at least he had Sirius and Remus with him. It also helped that Agent Barton (Harry refused to call him his "dad") had mostly kept his distance, leaving any interactions up to Harry.

"Stark, are you EVER going to lay off Mr. Black? You know what happened last time." Ah. Ever the voice of reason, Steve had made a point of playing moderator between Stark and Sirius after the latter's first snit had resulted in a slew of vicious pranks being played on the entire Tower. Not even Harry or nice Ms. Potts were spared.

"I'll lay off when he stops reacting like a child." Harry felt a slow smirk slide across his face at Steve's droll look, which bloomed into a full grin at Remus' quiet murmur of 'kettle, meet pot.'

"Having fun, gentlemen?" Harry's grin melted off his face at the unannounced arrival of Agent Coulson. It wasn't that he had an issue with the man, but he tended to bring surprises with him. Considering that the surprises so far ended up with him being dragged to New York and told that his life was a lie, Harry tended to distrust any surprises that Agent Coulson brought with him (though Sirius and Remus were nice surprises, he could admit).

"Sure. Load of fun. It's a regular Fun House in here." Ah, there was the sulking Sirius, come trailing in to see what Coulson wanted.

Coulson smiled, that unnervingly pleasant one too, which meant that someone was in for an unwelcome surprise. Shit. "Excellent...Mr. Potter! I'd like to introduce you to someone..."

Fuck. He knew it. He bloody well knew it. "Yeah? Who is it?"

A woman stepped through the door, as beautiful as she was cold, with no expression on her face. Harry was startled to realize that she looked a great deal like the pictures he'd seen of his mum (Lily), but a lot less friendly. "Agent Romanoff, Mr. Potter. She's your biological mother."

Of course she fucking was. Like he'd thought before, Coulson's surprises were always the unwelcome kind.

[End Chapter]


	7. Chapter 7 A Minerva Moment

**Disclaimer: As Always...NOT MINE. **

**I figured that I would finally establish a Time Line in terms of Avengers (Cyber Cake to anyone who can catch the reference) and have a bit of fun with our favorite fiesty older woman, at the same time. Seriously, Minerva was too fun to ignore, especially when Sybll Trelawney decided to sneak her way into this chapter...**

Chapter Six: An Interlude with Minerva, or Tough Titty, Said the Kitty

Minerva McGonagall had never seen herself as particularly harsh (though her students might disagree), but neither had she ever been tolerant of nonsense or dramatics. So, it came as no surprise to her colleagues that she had absolutely no patience for the nonsensical, overly dramatic Divination professor, Sybll Trelawney. Her lack of patience was only compounded by frustration at Albus' frankly bewildering confidence in Sybll's talents, as well as his turning a blind eye to the woman's caterwauling.

In the end, Minerva grit her teeth and resigned herself to Sybll's presence, for Albus, for the sake of her students who had to deal with her, and for her pride as a Lion. No matter what else, she was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors do not back down over silly little things like attention-starved loonies. Even if said loonies wandered around looking like a mouldering carnival fortune teller, smelling like they'd bathed in patchouli and Sherry.

Despite Minerva's reluctant patience with Sybll, there was one sure-fire way to get her in a temper, and that was for the musty old fraud to start making death predictions about her students. So, when Minerva heard Sybll hissing and moaning to herself as she passed by the Divination tower, she turned on her heel and headed in the opposite direction. Perhaps she should have stayed to hear the so-called Prediction, so that she could pass it on to Ablus. Perhaps she should have at least informed the man about it, to see if he could track down a portrait that had over-heard what the mad woman was saying. Perhaps a lot of things, but the fact remained that Minerva did none of these things, having long run out of patience with having to deal with the bug-eyed fraud.

In the end, her temper ruled her and, as no one was around to witness it, she let it rule her without regret. She knew she would wonder, later, what it is that Sybll had supposedly predicted, but for now, her temper was too high to allow rationality.

Her temper had been short for a while, to be honest...ever since Albus had pulled little Harry Potter from his friends and school and hid him so completely that even his godfather and father's old friend, Remus Lupin, supposedly didn't know where he was. So, maybe she was feeling a little angry and defensive on behalf of one of her precious Lion Cubs, and maybe it was foolhardy to risk who-knows-what by ignoring a potential prophecy in order to snub Albus, but she had her pride still and was above pettier revenges...for now. If he didn't like it, well...Tough Titty for him.

…

In her smoky tower, Sybll Trelawney frantically rocked, back and forth, back and forth, from her spot on the floor where she had fallen three hours previously, while making tea. Her eyes were milky and glazed from her powerful vision, her voice nearly wrecked from shouting the same thing over and over, for hours and hours...

"He Comes...He Comes...He Who Courts Death Comes..."

[End Chapter]


	8. Chapter 8 Into the Catacombs, pt 1

**Disclaimer: Do Not Own Marvel or Scholastic, so I Do Not Own Avengers/Marvel or Harry Potter Universes. Sad, but true...**

**Remember how I implied something horrible happening to pregnant-Lily? Yeahhh...if you are squeamish, you might get grossed out by this. Just a heads up.**

Chapter Seven: Into the Catacombs (pt 1)

The air was heavy with the metallic smell of ozone and blood, clouds of dust from debris limiting her range of vision to barely a foot in each direction. _Fuck_. Natasha cocked her gun and crouched, trying to see the familiar shadows of either Hawkeye or Agent (James) Potter through the smoky air to no success. A brief glance over her shoulder showed the heavily-pregnant Agent Lily Potter peering into the smoke, squinting her eyes as blood and streaks of dirt ran down her forehead and into her eyes. She'd been hit by a chunk of falling wall earlier, but luckily had stopped the heavier bleeding before she could lose consciousness.

The redhead clutched her pregnant belly desperately as her other arm steadily pointed her wand out into the crowd, ready to fire on Natasha's command. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent smirked; this was a woman who knew how to humbly follow directions but could still be as fierce and vicious as a Master Assassin, herself. If the woman wasn't so attached to England and her job, Natasha would have pulled her onto her team in a second. Coulson would certainly have been happy to have the redhead around more often.

A bullet grazed Natasha's grimy cheek, zeroing her focus onto a large portion of crumbling wall across the street. It looked like the Wizards had fucking snipers with them, which meant that she and Lily would have to find cover, as they were far too exposed presently. Lily seemed to have had the same idea, as she tugged Natasha's arm as she retreated towards the entrance to the Catacombs.

It wasn't ideal, going underground, but it would do for cover for the moment, as long as they didn't get cornered down in the dark of the labyrinthine tunnels.

…

Natasha cursed herself as she pressed her back against the cold stone of another dead end alcove. Those bastards had been fucking herding them, and now the exhausted Agents were cornered. Had she been on her own, the infamous Widow would have cut and run. However, Lily was still needed for the mission and was moving slower than usual with her injuries.

"...go. Just go, Widow."

"We need you for this mission, Potter. Like hell am I going to leave you behind and listen to your husband bitch at me endlessly."

Lily's laugh was dry and pained, but it was a laugh. "I wasn't suggesting that you leave me permanently, just long enough to find a signal and radio for back up. I could probably keep them distracted for a while on my own."

Natasha eyed Lily closely through the dark, making out the familiar determined gleam in the other woman's eyes. She pushed off the wall with a nod, her lips pressed into a harsh line. "Don't die on me, Potter. I don't want to be the one to tell Fury I blew the mission because of rookie heroics."

"Understood, ma'am. Get your arse moving...the longer you linger, the less time you'll have to make that call."

Natasha set off in a determined sprint, weaving her way through the dark, twisting halls, glancing at her radio, trying to find a signal, even a weak one. She cringed, her blood running cold at the agonized wailing coming from Lily's direction, but stiffly moved forward. If she turned around now, Lily's distraction would have been for nothing. After five minutes, Natasha found her radio was faintly registering a signal, so quickly called out for back-up. She only hoped they could track her via her signal, or she and Lily were screwed.

…

The cell was dark, too dark to see her hand in front of her face, and obviously fashioned by their magical captors, as Natasha was pretty sure she would have remembered a giant, magic-charged cell in the middle of a tourist trap like the Budapest catacombs. A trembling moan came from across the dark space. Lily. Natasha crawled slowly across the rough ground, her hands slipping in something wet and warm. Blood. There was blood everywhere, and it felt fresh and slick across her palms.

"Agent Potter...Agent Potter...damn it, _LILY_! Lily, what's happened?"

A dry, broken sob was Natasha's only answer.

"Damn it all, if you don't tell me what they did, I can't HELP you!"

"They...they had a...Healer working with them, and he...they...they made him induce labor. It was early...too early...the baby went into shock. They...killed my baby. They _KILLED MY BABY_!"

Natasha swore under her breath, slipping through blood and uterine fluid to get to the bleeding woman's side. For the first time in memory, Natasha didn't know what to say. She could have conned highly confidential information out of anyone, anywhere, but here...now...when Lily needed her mastery of words for comfort, she didn't know what in the Hell she was supposed to say to make this right. So, she said nothing, fumbling quietly as she tried to see if she could help the other woman stop the bleeding.

Lily hissed as Natasha's hands passed over her lower body and Natasha jerked, as if burned. "What is it? Where does it hurt? You need to tell me so I can try and stop you from bleeding out..."

"Well, aside from feeling like they ripped my spine out through my vagina, I feel fine. Those...fucking bastards...gave me something for clotting, so I don't think I'm going to bleed out." A dry, broken laugh, "Fuck. Those fucking sadists ripped my baby out of me, Natasha. I want them fucking _burned_."

Natasha's jaw tensed as she felt a rush of pure fury surge through her blood. "As soon as we can get out of here, consider it done, Red."

[End Chapter]


	9. Ch 8: AWOOO! Werewolf of London!

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own this, and I never will.

Also, I was a bit of a goof and got a bit lazy in dealing with the titles, so to save confusion between what the chapter drop bar says and what the text says, I just want to clarify:

A Minerva Moment is chapter SIX, not seven

Into the Catacombs, pt 1 is chapter SEVEN, not eight

**STORY Disclaimer: **This story involves multiple characters, story arcs, plot lines, AND generations, so there WILL be the feeling of jumping from one chapter to the next, as I don't tend to be blatant in laying out a timeline (ex: "THAT NEXT MONTH," etc). I DO, however, know how these things all connect together, so please keep that in mind and kindly be patient. :D

...

Chapter Eight: AWOOOO! Werewolf of London?!

When Remus had gone haring off after Sirius, he hadn't been thinking straight. Obviously, he didn't regret reconnecting with Harry, or even meeting the motley crew of residents of Mr. Stark's ostentatious tower. No. What Remus had failed to take into account, for the first time in more than twenty years, was his "furry little problem," as James had called it.

The full moon was fast approaching and Stark's tower, no matter how technologically advanced, was far from secure enough when it came to dealing with large, feral rage-monsters made of razor sharp teeth and claws, and very infectious saliva. With little time to prepare and nowhere else to go, Remus was becoming increasingly on edge. More than once, he'd snapped at Stark for being his usual aggravating self, and even the mild-mannered Bruce had not escaped the bite of Remus' razor tongue when the scientist had tried to play mediator for the two of them.

Harry, bless him, seemed to take Remus' mood swings in stride and tried to discreetly find places for Remus to go and wait out his "time of the month," but even S.H.I.E.L.D. was ill-equipped for dealing with the man's condition. If Sirius slipped a hefty dose of Brandy into Remus' evening tea, the lycanthrope said nothing. He was currently in no position to lecture on manners, and he could use a bit of relaxation, to be honest.

The morning of the full moon dawned obnoxiously bright, with the distant buzz of the city seeming more irritating than pleasant. Swearing viciously under his breath, Remus turned away from the glare of the sunlight and buried himself under his covers, shoving his pillow atop his head with more violence than necessary.

With the sound of tearing fabric, Remus' pillow exploded in a mass of soft down and duck feathers. _FUCK HIS LIFE_. He should have remembered that these pillows were NOT magically reinforced to withstand his PMS (Pre Moon Stroppiness), but he'd been too bloody tired to be arsed about it. So he was left, face pressed harshly into his mattress, with down and duck feathers slowly drifting down to land on his mussed hair and bare shoulders. He must have stayed there, face pressed into his sheets, for a while, because it was Sirius (the habitual "Late Riser") who was the one to rouse him. Well, he couldn't SEE that it was Sirius, but the harsh, bark-like laugh was a dead giveaway.

"Honestly, Moons. What the hell did you do to yourself?!"

Remus mumbled incoherently in return, not really paying any mind to what came out of his mouth. He was sure that "Dickless Son of a Sod" and "Arse-Faced Bastard" were thrown in there somewhere, but he couldn't tell for certain.

"Harry's made an English Fry Up, so you'd best get up before I decide to eat your share."

"Like FUCK you will!" Sirius seemed to twitch like a startled cat at Remus' outburst and his sudden lunge from the sheets, but the former convict recovered quickly and gave Remus his usual, manic grin.

"Well, then...I guess you'd best get dressed."

He dashed off before Remus could do anything to him, which was smart, because nothing made his PMS flare up as much as threatening to take his food away. Remus always used a ridiculous amount of energy with his transformations, so he always felt nearly starved beforehand, and thus was rather vicious when it came to protecting his meals from Sirius' greedy hands.

Despite his urge to protect his breakfast from Sirius, Remus stumbled and dragged his feet through getting dressed and shuffling out to the central dining area (not the only one in the tower, by far, but still the one used the most by the residents). "Sirius, you had best hope you didn't touch my food, or you're losing your _fecking_ HANDS."

Harry snorted from his place by the stove and turned, a huge, full plate in hand. "No worries. I guarded it with my life."

Remus drooled at the sight of the over-flowing plate. Harry had been more than generous with his servings of baked beans, bangers, rashers, grilled tomatoes, and blood pudding. There was also a small plate of toast, a platter of fried eggs, and a pot of milk tea on the giant island counter for everyone to pick at, but Remus noticed that Harry and Sirius gently held everyone back until he'd taken what he wanted. He shoved an entire piece of toast in his mouth as he circled the island to one of its stools, giving both appreciative nods as he did so.

Remus, usually so proper when eating, practically shoveled the food into his mouth, a bit of grease from the eggs and rashers streaking his stubbled chin. He twitched as someone cleared their throat as they sat next to him. It was Bruce, and the man was giving him a confused, but kind smile.

"So, uh...bad morning?"

Remus swallowed his mouthful before straightening in his seat. "Uh, no. I have this...condition. Er...well...I have monthly flare ups, I guess you could call them. Food helps...well, it helps enough."

Bruce still looked confused, but Remus wasn't about to get into a conversation about his "furry little problem" when he could be eating, instead. He had until nightfall to tell Bruce about tonight's quarantine.

…

In the end, it was not as big of a disaster as it could have been, but it was still pretty fucking horrific. Stark swore that the floor in question was "totaled," but Remus and Bruce alike thought the fact that they hadn't knocked out any support beams and collapsed the top floors of the tower was a victory in itself.

When Remus had transformed, sealed tightly behind several steel doors with electronic locks, no one had thought about the fact that magic regularly made tech malfunction. No one thought that the Other Guy would be able to sense another snarling, feral creature from three floors away. No one thought that Bruce would spontaneously transform into HIM, ripping through halls and stairwells, roaring as the Other Guy made its way toward the creature it saw as competition and as a threat towards "His humans."

So, when Remus' transformation had blown a fuse, there was little more than an unlocked metal door between the feral beast and carnage. Luckily for the rest of the tower's occupants, the Other Guy was waiting for a feral Moony to smash through his metal barrier. Unluckily for both Bruce and Remus, neither the Other Guy nor Moony were feeling particularly patient or merciful.

Moony, feral and furious, with fangs bared and coated in venom, circled the growling, snarling Hulk, looking for a weak point to attack. Angry green locked onto feral gold, the two Alpha Beasts snarling, muscles tensed, before they pounced. It was a blur of green skin and tawny fur, the sounds of angry roars and vicious growls echoing through the empty floor. The floors and windows seemed to vibrate with their rage and the force of their impact. The Other Guy, not expecting the Beast to be as strong as he was, was sent flying, destroying walls, doors, and tearing light fixtures out of the ceiling as he grasped for purchase.

The sound his roar echoed in the vast rooms, cracking some of the glass and making the feral wolf whimper as it tried to shield its sensitive ears. With a swipe of a large, green fist, the Other Guy snatched up the whining werewolf to toss him, but the wolf dug his claws in deep, hard enough that a few snapped off at the root, leaving bloody streaks down the Other Guy's back. Moony howled and snarled, his pain making his desperation worse, as he clawed and bit like a cornered, rabid beast. The Other Guy shook the creature in its grip until it went limp with a pained yelp and tossed it against a far wall. With a final snarl, the Other Guy began to recede, the "threat" to his humans (HIS BRUCE) subdued. Before the newly transformed Bruce, battered and naked, could wonder at the destruction he and the werewolf had wrought, he passed out.

The morning dawned, bright and clear, the sun's glare blinding as it reflected off broken glass and metal debris. Though both men could see the evidence of their violence the night before, Bruce and Remus could only vaguely remember what had happened. What they did know was that they both were very sore, very tired, and more than a tad bloodied up. Ms. Pepper had taken one look at the two of them and at the chaos around her and pressed her lips into a thin, displeased line, briskly walking away. She'd returned quickly with a First Aid kit and some pajamas, helping them clean up before swiftly sending them to bed in her usual no-nonsense manner.

Remus, sinking into his soft mattress clean and patched up, could have kissed Pepper and called her his Queen of Mercy, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with Stark's bitching. Just as he had that morning, he buried himself in his blankets, shoved his face against the soft mattress, and fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. Not even Sirius bitching about his "Dragon Snores" could wake him right now.

[End Chapter]

Thanks again for your continued support! I do this for ME, but knowing that people like it is lovely.


	10. Ch 9: Interlude: When Hawk met Stag

**Disclaimer: **Not Mine. ALSO...as people have probably noticed, this is a story covering several characters and timelines, hence the switching timelines POVs. If this story is confusing to follow, just try to think of them as interconnected vignettes.

OK, so...I've put this off for a bit because of school, but since I am in the mood to be productive, I thought I'd post this little bastard (at long last). Hope the Clint Snark and James cameo makes up for the wait.

Here we go...

Chapter Nine: An Interlude—When the Hawk met the Stag

Clint felt his eyebrows creep up his forehead and a smirk twitch at his lips as he got a good look at the "Agent on Loan" from England, James Potter. From how much Fury had bitched and grumbled, he'd been expecting a thick-necked military type, a full-on stereotype made of muscle and attitude. Though the attitude was there, the rest was surprisingly lacking.

James Potter knew his shit, Clint could give him that. Field experience aside, he looked like a grade-A dork, like one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. lab lackeys that tooled around in R&D all day. His flyaway hair made him look like a muppet, and those fucking coke-bottle glasses were hilarious (until Clint remembered that the blind bastard would be covering his ass under fire). On top of all of that, the bastard was scrawny. OK, so, maybe wiry would be a better term, but still. Magical powerhouse or no, if the guy lost his wand, a strong fart aimed in his direction would knock him over.

Clint felt a bony elbow jab him in the ribcage and tossed a look at Nat, who was giving him the Eye for Not Paying Attention. Potter and...Potter (damn, but that would get annoying) were giving him dark looks. Well, Scrawny Potter was. Red-head Potter was rolling her eyes at Clint and doing the same elbow thing to her husband as the Widow was doing to him. Huh. Figures. Maybe it was a red-head thing...or maybe it was just a 'Fucking Pay Attention, You Idiot' thing.

Coulson, the guru of handlers, didn't even pause to give Clint the stink eye he knew he had coming. The guy had the patient of a saint. Either that, or he had a really, really huge crush on the Red-headed Potter and didn't want to yell at him in front of her, which looked pretty likely, if the looks that Scrawny Potter was tossing Agent ZenMaster was any indication.

"...you'll leave here at 0830 Tuesday morning, and travel by jet. You'll be met at the airport by our contact when you arrive. From there, you'll—"

Clint tuned out the rest of the spiel. He'd already read the mission report and was long-past the point of needing pre-op briefings, which made him wonder which Agent Potter was being treated like a Rookie, to deserve the play-by-play run-down. A slow smirk twisted his lips as he locked eyes with ole Tall'n'Scrawny. He'd bet Coulson's Captain America cards that Coke-Bottle Potter was the one with that honor. After all, Fury obviously had no issue with Red going on mission while preggo.

He'd obviously tuned out the rest of the meeting, as Clint blinked and looked up to see that Potter had stepped into his personal space and was staring down at him, hard. "_What_ is your problem? You've done nothing but smirk and stare this whole time. Did you even pay attention to the briefing? I'd rather not die because _you_ screwed up."

Clint gave the Dweeb with Attitude an unimpressed look. "It's not my qualifications that are in question, Bean Pole. I know how to do my job. You on the other hand...well, you're the one who's here as a tag-along."

Embarrassed red was really not the best look for the guy. Unluckily for Clint, Geek Boy's wife seemed to pop up before the man could snap back, and dragged the mouthy Brit away before he could dig himself in a hole. Obviously, Red had been paying attention when Coulson had mentioned that he and Tash were running the Op. She was sharp, he'd give her that, even if she'd spoiled his game of "Sabotage the Annoying Newbie."

Another sharp jab, this one landing between two ribs, made Clint yelp and toss Natasha a pout. "You and your damn, bony elbows...that fucking hurts, you know."

A raised brow and a frown. Typical Nat. "Stop messing with him. I'd rather he not hate us _before_ we're reliant on him following orders."

"Yeah, sure. Spoil my fun. I'll be on the roof." Clint didn't have to see Nat's expression to know that she was eye-rolling him.

_Jesus. Fuck. DON'T LAUGH. DON'T. _When Clint had heard that Potter (he was a long way from calling the guy James, but had at least stopped calling him Scrawny) could shape-shift, he'd expected..._well_. To be honest, Clint wasn't sure what the hell he'd expected, but he sure as hell hadn't imagined that the guy would turn into something as useless as a juvenile deer...sorry, _stag_. He knew that he'd given Potter a lot more shit than he deserved, but _come on_! The guy had been bragging not-subtly-at-all for _weeks_ that he could shape-shift, and that it would be _useful_, and that Clint would feel ridiculous once he saw how useful a skill it was.

After all that build up, after all that posturing, Clint was left with, well...Bambi. Or, Bambi's dad. Either way. Venison stew was venison stew, no matter how you looked at it, and if if Potter pranced out into the streets of Budapest as a stag, he'd get himself killed...or locked up by some well-meaning game warden.

A wheeze made it past his hard-pressed lips as Bambi-Potter pranced around the room, and Clint had to turn away or give in to hilarity. This guy. Honestly.

...he'd give Potter one thing. He was good for a fucking laugh.

… …

Clint felt the cold through his shirt as he leaned against the thick, glass paneling of the walls. The bright colors of a video game projected from an obscenely large TV set reflected darkly into the tinted glass of the room, making the massive sitting room come alive with tiny, writhing shadows. Harry, a pleased smirk twisting his mouth, broke out into a celebratory dance around the couches even as Black pouted over his Mario Kart loss. Stark, the bastard, was smirking and Bruce had subtly raised the newspaper that he was not-really-reading to hide his smile at Black's epic loss. Remus, the only one really acting like an adult, was eye-rolling everyone and patting Black's head like he was some brat to be coddled.

"Sorry, Siri, but I guess you're not as 'unstoppable' as you thought!" Harry seemed to have dropped the steering remote to dance around his godfather, waving his arms like a loon, as he taunted the older man with his celebratory boogying.

Really, as much as the kid was his and Nat's, he was very obviously Potter's, too. That pride...that ridiculous, showy pride that popped up every once in a while was so much like James'.

There was a time when he would have hated having any kid of his share any traits with that smug bastard, but...war (or battle, anyway) made strange bed fellows, and James had grown on him...like a fungus...an awkward, moody fungus.

So, maybe the kid could hold grudges better than Nat, and could out-snark even him, but every once in a while, Clint would catch him laughing, or boasting, or even just acting like a regular fucking teenager and he'd see ole Jimmy-boy. He'd have liked to have known the kid before all this mess, sure...but maybe ole Pot-Head had been a good fit for a foster dad, after all.

[End Chapter]


	11. Chapter 10: Into the Catacombs, pt 2

**Sorry that it's been almost two months...I honestly didn't realize that so much time had passed by, but alas. Here's a longer chapter for those of you who have been so incredible (and incredibly patient, to boot). All I can say is: AT LONG LAST.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the recognizable properties of Harry Potter or Avengers/MARVEL.**

**Chapter Disclaimer: no violence, but reference to blood, bodily functions, and all the not-so-flowery aspects of birth (so if you cringe at the mention of placentas, fluids, or breast feeding, then...too bad, so sad. Either read it or don't).**

Chapter Ten: Into the Catacombs (pt 2)

Natasha's hands were slick, black and tacky with cooling blood, before the clotting agent they'd given Lily finally started to do its job. Sadists though their captors were, they apparently needed the witch alive, as the spell they'd used to induce labor, while cruel, was not enough to over-ride whatever half-assed band-aid remedy they'd given her. Even so, Natasha sat, knees going numb against the icy stone slabs, listening intently to Lily's shallow breathing, only broken with by an occasional breathy sob. She did not offer comfort, other than a hand for Lily to grip on to. Honestly, what the fuck could she ever say that would make this better for her? Though she'd been through her fair share of messed up shit, she'd never lost a child...and knowing herself as she did, she was not sure she had enough human emotion left to grieve for one, even if she had.

She was a Legal Assassin, paid to seduce and to kill. Thanks to this, Natasha had learned, perhaps too early, that her emotions would get her killed, so she had killed them before they could become a liability. Even so, she felt a small measure of pity for Lily, that she was unfortunate enough to be stuck with someone who would not...nay, could not...offer her solace. So, Natasha did what she was trained to do...she took care of her wounded team member and kept her ear out for the captors that she knew would be coming back for them, eventually.

…

Silence.

Silence for hours...days...at a time. It was hard to say, stuck in the dark, how long their stretches of silence lasted. On occasion, Lily would fill their small, dark cell with the sound of whispers, if only to beat back the maddening silence. Most of the time, however, the only sound that broke the stillness was the rasp of their breath, heavy in the damp air. They were in no immediate danger of death or permanent injury by their captors, if only for the sake of whatever they were negotiating with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the International Confederate of Wizards for. Still. The sound of nothing but damp exhalations, hovering in the stale, musty air, was almost enough to make Natasha cringe away.

Almost.

…

Sick. So, so sick.

Natasha wasn't sure that she had ever felt as sick as she did for the past few...however long it had been, now.

It was hard to tell, when you no longer had light to track the passage of time. This lack of time was worrying for many reasons, but mostly because she had not had her period for a while, and she knew she had to be at least a month over-due. She would not have been able to tell, had Lily not had a minor break-down the first time hers showed up, after her traumatic miscarriage. It could just be the stress, but Lily had to be worse off than her, and hers had still showed up, despite her fairly recent physical trauma.

...and the smell of it all. Fuck.

She would kill for a bucket of cold water and a bar of soap. For the both of them, but mostly her. She was in the same leather suit she'd been in when she'd been caught, and she hadn't exactly been smelling of roses at the time. Maybe it was the prolonged lack of sight, or maybe it was the hyper-awareness caused by her situation, but her nose seemed to be picking up on every nauseating odor it could, and she was tired of feeling like she was going to vomit with every inhale.

Breathe in. Gag. Swallow it back...don't...get...sick.

Breathe out. Shudder. Gasp.

Rinse. Repeat. Ad Nauseum, quite literally.

…

By the time she noticed her stomach starting to round, a solid curve under her palm, Natasha had pretty much figured it out. It had been just the once, and only for the sake of the video bugs that she and Clint were not supposed to know about. She was sure that Clint was a fantastic lover with Bobbi, but Natasha had been more focused on convincing those observing them that they were who they said they were (just one of a pair of married couples in Budapest for a vacation). So, she had tuned out everything, save putting on a realistic show; she couldn't say whether or not the sex was good, because she'd long since learned to ignore physical sensation that could distract her (even sexual pleasure). Well, now that she was pregnant, she sure hoped she'd had a good orgasm or two, because this seriously complicated things.

…

Silence born from pain and resentment was a very different silence than that born of a lack of things to say.

As much as Natasha had come to despise the latter in her time in captivity with Lily, she was surprised by how much worse the former actually was, now that she was subjected to it. Natasha had not tried to hide her situation from Lily, nor had she flaunted it, but as her pregnancy progressed, Lily broke their seldom broken-silence even less. To be honest, Natasha was more frustrated than sympathetic to Lily's reasons. The last thing they both needed was for her to be pregnant, now, when their captors could easily put her down for good with the same spell that they'd used on Lily before.

"He's married, just so you know." Her voice felt like glass coming out of her throat, but she managed.

"...who?"

" Agent Barton. Clint. Bobbi, his wife...she works for S.H.I.E.L.D., and the ridiculous bastard loves her. Plus, those assholes could kill me with the same magic they used on you. So."

"So, _what_, Agent Romanoff?" Lily's voice was a little louder than her whisper before, and a little angrier.

"So, _Agent Potter_, it's less than productive to be pissed at me for something that was most definitely not planned, let alone meant as a mockery to you. This situation is...difficult enough...without you wanting to kill me in my sleep."

Lily didn't answer, but Natasha heard her choke on a sob.

Natasha bit back the urge to sigh in annoyance. "My point wasn't to upset you, but merely to point out the facts: this makes our situation infinitely more dangerous than it was, and my life infinitely more complicated when...not if..._when_ we get out of here."

For a moment, there was silence, so heavy she could almost feel it hanging in the air. It was the silence that hinted at an unasked question, so she stayed silent, hoping it would prompt the woman to speak.

"I could...if...if you don't want it. If we all survive this...you, me, and your baby...I could take the child for you. If you still don't want it."

Natasha's breath left her, like she'd been punched in the chest. The relief was there, so intense that she felt dizzy, but she also felt hesitant. "Lily...if you take it, you have to realize that there is a chance he...or she...will not have magic. I mean, neither I nor Clint have it, despite what we can do. Also...if you change your mind after, I won't take the baby back. Once he or she is yours, that's it."

"That's fine. Really. I don't care, I don't. Just...I want to help you, but more than that...I want to be a mom, still, and I can do that, in your place."

Natasha settled her head back against the stone wall and shut her eyes in relief. "Then you have yourself a deal, Lily. If I bring this baby to term, the kid's yours."

…

It wasn't easy, per se, to hide her pregnancy from her captors, but it wasn't exactly difficult, as they were not starving them...merely storing them, till they could be of use to them. That, and the fact that they rarely bothered with a light any brighter than candlelight went a long way in hiding things from their captors. Natasha did her best to fight back her urge to demand more food than she could get away with, especially when her cravings kicked in, but she succeeded with Lily's help.

Still...she would have murdered a plate of fish pirozhki and watermelon.

…

As a human, Natasha had dealt with all the same disgusting, necessary things that everyone else had. Even so...pregnancy gas was by far the worst kind of gas that any human could ever experience. Lily was understanding, but Natasha cursed their small, unventilated cell colorfully every time it reared it.

_Bozhe moi_

…

_FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK_

That was the only thing that Natasha could think once the contractions hit, and then she did not think a lot of anything for a while. All her focus was on giving birth and trying not to scream loud enough to have their captors running. She didn't really notice until after, but Lily had shoved a strip of leather, taken from her old S.H.I.E.L.D. field uniform, into her mouth as both a gag and something she could bite down on. It helped, somewhat, if only in the sense that their captors hadn't shown up.

After, Natasha lay shaking and exhausted on her thin palette, a slimy, mewling infant on her chest, it's tiny mouth clamped down on her breast as it nursed.

Fuck, but that was weird. She was a mom.

She could hear Lily mumbling worriedly in the background, but was too tired to care, at the moment, about how they'd explain the "mess" and how they'd safely manage to cut the kid's umbilical cord before the attached placenta began to rot.

In the end, they didn't have to explain anything, as their captors showed up to check in on them before they could figure out how to deal with any of it. They looked less than pleased, but surprisingly hadn't done more than have their wizard clean up the mess and neatly deal with the cord and placenta. Maybe they thought one more hostage could help their case. Maybe they didn't want to risk mutiny from their Wizard if they killed a newborn. Whatever the case, they tossed the women a few rags to use as diapers, and an old night shirt to wrap up the baby. As soon as that was done, they left.

…

With the exception of the times when the kid needed to be fed, Natasha left all the "mom stuff" to Lily. She let her hold him, and dress him, and rock him to sleep. Mostly, she huddled near entrance to the cell, if only because the darkness was a little less absolute, there. Natasha never said anything, but she doubted that even Lily's best efforts would save the kid's eye sight from being fucked up after their prolonged exposure to darkness. She wasn't an optimist, so she couldn't "hope for the best," but she could do the Brit the favor of not saying what they were both thinking out loud.

…

Eleven months. After almost a year in captivity, Natasha was pleasantly surprised to see Agent Potter (James) and Coulson, dim lantern in one hand and keys in the other, smiling at she and Lily. Of course, both had noticed the baby with his eyes scrunched closed, and Natasha—not Lily—nursing him, as Lily fussed with cleaning his ragged nappies as best she could.

Natasha had said nothing, trying to give the Potters a bit of privacy as Lily told her husband about the induced miscarriage, but a shared look with Coulson told her that he'd overheard, and would be having words with her later, to get her admittedly less emotional perspective on the events.

She looked up when a brief silence fell, and she noticed the looks that both the Potters and Coulson were giving her. It was awkward to see a combination of disbelief and gratitude aimed at her, and knew that Coulson would be bugging her later about this, as well...just to make sure that she was 'alright.' He was maddeningly decent, for a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, which was probably why Fury had made him a handler for so many of his emotionally compromised agents.

"I know why you're doing this, Natasha, so I'm going to help you. As a friend...that way, I don't feel obligated to report this to the Director. Deal?"

It took her a moment to realize what Coulson had said, as his voice had been so quiet, but when she did, she could do nothing save give him a sincere "Thank you."

Perhaps a small bit of good could come out of this, with Coulson's help.

Perhaps this could be something that Clint didn't have to know about.

...at least for now.

Natasha would tell him that they'd had a kid, one day.

She was almost sure of it.

Almost.

[End Chapter]


	12. Ch 11: Conflict Resolution

"That Time in Budapest"

**Welp...this is pretty much it (for this story). Fair Warning: I never promised Happy, or Everything Wrapped Up In A Pretty Bow.**

Chapter Eleven: Conflict Resolution is Key

Harry sighed and surreptitiously checked the time, again. Fifteen Merlin-be-Damned minutes. In a pitiful failure of "family bonding," he'd been sharing a pot of tea with Barton and Romanoff, and neither of them had said a damn word to him in fifteen minutes. Harry heard the rustle of Coulson's suit as the man shifted impatiently behind him, and he wondered if this was going to be the moment that the man's Zen finally cracked.

"When the three of you agreed to my suggestion that you should sit and discuss the situation, I imagined that there would be an actual conversation taking place." Not quite the verbal lashing he'd expected, but Harry imagined that that was as close to yelling as the man ever got.

"I don't know what there is to say, really. They...shagged...a bit, she got pregnant, and my mom—Lily—took the baby off her hands. I don't much need someone to take care of me anymore, and if I did, they don't seem much like the parental types..._no offense_."

Barton didn't say anything, but the look he gave him was enough for Harry to know that, while he wasn't offended, he wasn't exactly flattered, either. Romanoff didn't fucking react, at all, and Harry ticked off one more reason on his mental list why that woman would never be a mother, let alone his.

"The fact remains, Mr. Potter, that you are underage and that your biological parents are living. I know that your circumstances and their positions make a traditional family life impossible, but something has to be worked out."

Harry huffed and pulled out the pack of smokes he'd nabbed from the corner store while the cashier was distracted by his "pretty eyes." Coulson frowned, but he rolled his eyes and backed down when Harry gave him a cheeky smirk and lit up.

A few exaggerated drags later (if only to mess with Agent Zen), and Harry felt his patience return enough to think about what C-man had said. Yeah, so he was still underage and needed a guardian. Yeah, so this was the chance to give the Dursleys the finger forever, and not just while he was in hiding. In an ideal situation, they could all dance into the sunset, tra-la-la-ing, like one, big, happy family. This, however, was not an ideal situation, and he did not fucking tra-la-la, so that would not be happening, here.

"Look, I get why you're doing this. Really. The thing is, I'm not going to fucking get a Happily Ever After, with parents and a family. You know I'm not. If we can all agree to not be assholes to one another for the sake of the 'family' thing, that's fine, but this isn't going to end like some fairy tale. I mean, how would that work? Would I split time between mummy-dearest and Fly-boy, making sure to meet up with him when his wife is out of the house? Honestly, it would be easier just to...not bother."

Harry saw Romanoff's considering look out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, but he thought that, perhaps, she'd looked surprised that he could be as cold about it as she was. Like mother, like son, apparently. Barton didn't look happy, per se, but didn't seem to disagree that their situation was one doomed to either crash and burn for all of them, or fail before it had a chance to begin.

Honestly, Harry felt more bad for Coulson than for himself. The man may be his own personal Messenger of Bad Tidings, but he was a decent bloke and looked the most upset of all of them that they were all content to leave things alone. Harry took another drag before he stubbed his cigarette. Taking one last sip of his cold tea, he rose to bring his dishes to the sink, ending his part in the conversation. Honestly, he didn't see how there was much more to be said. Barton and Romanoff had lives and jobs here, on top of the Avengers thing, and Harry had his own war, looming in the horizon. Things weren't going to change, so he saw no use arguing the what-ifs of an impossible situation.

…

Stark stared at the kid's forehead as he concentrated on shielding his cards from his cheating godfather. Though Steve wasn't usually one for gambling, Barton's son had looked like he could use a distraction, so he'd rallied the troops for poker. The Captain smiled as Harry elbowed Mr. Black in the chest as he tried to lean into his side to see his hand. Even if Black was as exasperating as Stark, he at least seemed to care about his godson.

"I swear to effing _MERLIN_, Siri, but if you don't stop trying to cheat, I'll give Stark those pictures the twins took of you in that dre—" The man, burning red in embarrassment, backed away so quickly that he nearly toppled out of his chair, hands raised in surrender.

"Not necessarily, Harry. You made your point. No need to show anyone, _anything_."

Steve felt a his mouth curl into a smile as the teenager burst out in the first bit of genuine laughter that he'd heard from him. The kid was too damn subdued for his age; it was a nice change to see him relaxing. _Mother-hen. That's what you are...a big mother-hen. _It was strange that, after all this time, his inner voice still reminded him of Bucky, playful and just a bit mocking.

Stark being Stark, he couldn't very well let something that interesting go, and soon he was pestering the flustered Black with questions as Harry's composure dissolved into hilarity. Honestly, the chaos was a bit much, but Steve felt it best to just let it be. He recognized the heavy feeling in the air, the feeling of trouble coming, and he knew that before long, peace might be something of the past. So, for now, he'd keep his worries to himself and hope for a future for his friends, and for Harry.

[Epilogue]

Steve looked around at the castle by the lake, awe in his eyes. When Mr. Dumbledore had shown up in the middle of the night to drag Harry, Remus and Black back to England, Steve had elected to go with him. Though he wasn't exactly surprised that Clint and Natasha didn't choose to go, he was sad, all the same. Still, no one ever said that life was fair, so he'd gone to pack a bag after letting the team know where he'd be and how to contact him, when the inevitable shit storm...from whoever, or whatever...came. He trusted his team to take care of the home-front, while he helped out in England. Though he knew this time would be different, that he wasn't saying good-bye for good, he still had a feeling that things were about to get bad, quick. If he could do some good in England and help a kid deal with a position he was intimately familiar with-the position of leader, and Captain-in the meantime, he wasn't going to turn his back on him.

Mr. Dumbledore's wizened voice broke Steve from his dark thoughts. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Captain Rogers. I'm sure your time here will be...eventful."

With a smile that was more a grimace, Steve headed toward the castle, hoping that Harry's war ended better for him than his had.

…

Somewhere in the dark of Albanian forest, Voldemort read the most recent report from his agents in the Department of Mysteries back in London. He was not sure who this Thanos was, or what manner of being he might be to have so many Seers making prophecies about him, but he might just prove useful...

**So. That's it for this story. I know this is a cliff-hanger, but this story was only ever meant to be a story about a mission gone wrong that led to the birth of the Wizarding World's savior. I KNOW that there are questions about the war, Voldemort, Thanos left unanswered. Like I said at the top...I never promised Happy, or Pretty Little Bow. HOWEVER...for those who want closure: I am open to someone else writing a sequel. ALL I ASK is that you talk to me, first, to let me know about it. **


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